Remember When
by Psychozzy
Summary: But then the familiar face appeared through the fog. In a way, Tom wasn’t the least bit surprised to see him standing there, looking like only a taller version of his younger self, completely unconcerned with anything around him.
1. Huckleberry

A/N: Okay, this is a little weird, but I'll tell you about it: in the extras it just said Tom's "childhood friend" was killed. While it's implied that it's Huck, I decided it doesn't have to be. I like Huck, and in Tom Sawyer, they mention another person as one of Tom Sawyer's "bosom friends." So, yeah. And this is just the intro, so don't worry if it's a bit boring. Um, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Well I was just recently informed that the penname Mark Twain was already taken, so I don't own Tom, Huck or Joe. I also don't own the other characters that come in later. And I made up Carrington, SC, so if that's a real town then I'm sorry!

A new day was just beginning on the booming coastal town of Carrington, South Carolina when Tom Sawyer decided to wander the streets. The town was almost completely silent, but not dead silent, and he liked that. He had grown used to the fact that the Nautilus would always have something creaking or there would be someone aboard shouting orders, but he still craved the peacefulness of a sleepy town kicking back their covers and begrudgingly greeting the new day.

A thick fog rolled in from the sea, one which covered up the majority of the massive Nautilus. There were going to be quite a few confused and, maybe a little angry townspeople, when they saw the gargantuan ship (or so he guessed it was) blocking their port, but hopefully they would make up for it with all the provisions they were intent on purchasing. Growing up in a small port town, Tom knew the economy most likely lay in the port, so he planned on supporting it as much as he could. Of course, for all he knew about sea ports, the economy could be completely dependent on communication.

Tom found a dry bench among all the damp ones lining the street and sat down. He was quite happy none of the others had decided to accompany him on his expedition into town; they were quite conspicuous. Well, except for Skinner, technically, but he had to be naked for that to work and that part always troubled him a little bit. Jekyll wasn't too bad either. That is, if he wasn't talking to Hyde. That's when you had to sidle away from him and stare at him with all the other people in town. And Mina could be all right, when she wasn't sucking the blood out of someone's throat. Maybe Nemo would be accepted in a port town, dressed as he was, but as a group they were quite noticeable.

The tinkling of a bell in the distance told Tom shops were opening. He heard footsteps echoing down the sidewalks and a carriage or two were clomping along in the distance. The only thing he needed was a steamboat whistle.

Tom let his head drop back against the bench. He heard more footsteps, but this time they were closer to him. He smiled to think it might be someone he knew. What he would give right now to see a familiar face from St. Petersburg.

Someone cleared their throat nearby. Tom raised his head again, but all he saw was the fog in front of him and no one to the sides. It must have been a trick of the senses, he thought.

"Why Thomas Sawyer, I hain't seen you in a dog's age," a familiar voice sighed in a teasing tone from somewhere beyond the fog. Tom narrowed his eyes and looked for the origin of the voice. He shook his head, he must be hearing things. It must have been his wishful thinking, there was no way he could be here.

But then the familiar face appeared through the fog. In a way, Tom wasn't the least bit surprised to see him standing there, looking like only a taller version of his younger self, completely unconcerned with anything around him. His hands were on the hips of his ripped and filthy jeans and he had a large clump of chew bulging out of his lip.

"You know damn well that's the name they whip me by, and I hain't ben whipped in near on six years."

"Tom, you ben outta school longer'n that. What, they whip ya when you mess up on yer job?"

"You never could count very well, could you Huckleberry Finn? I ben out little over five years. It's you ben out longer," Tom countered his old friend with amusement. Tom and Huck had been pretty close as kids, but a lot of that was by coincidence. Huck had been the forbidden boy, the one all mothers (or, in Tom's case, aunt) hated, so he was naturally admired by all boys. Then, after the murder and the finding of the treasure, it was pretty much implied Tom and Huck were good friends. Huck's adventure with Jim, which later involved Tom, just sealed the deal. Who knew what would have happened if Huck had been just another school boy? They most likely wouldn't have been friends, as Huck was a shade small and fairly shy and passive by nature while Tom was always up for an adventure or a fight.

"So where's Joe?" Huck changed the subject with an abruptness that caught Tom off guard.

"Joe?" he repeated. "Joe Harper?" Huck sat down on the bench next to his friend and spit some of his tobacco out on the ground.

"No, Injun Joe, o' course I mean Joe Harper. Last I heared you 'n' him were workin' together in some high-and-mighty govment job." Tom sighed deeply and hung his head.

"Joe's dead. For reals this time," he smiled, thinking of the time the town thought they were dead when they were really off being "pirates." "We was partners and we was runnin' after this guy that wanted to turn the whole world again each other. So we come up again him and we find out he only got one bullet, and he was 'termined to kill one or t'other. So I told him 'Shoot me, he don't deserve to die.' So he shot Joe right in the head.

"Don't worry, I got my revenge Huck; I shot 'n' killed him from near 500 yards off right after he killed one of our team." Huck gave Tom an curious look, with a touch of pity and concern. But Tom didn't see it. "His family refused to believe he was dead until they saw the body, after the humiliation o' last time, but when they saw it, they decided they hated me. I did a lot o' stuff growin' up, stuff that almost got me, him, an' even you killed, but when I try to save him they decide to hate me. I don't reckon St. Petersburg will ever let me back. I'm just glad Aunt Polly moved afore it happened."

"How many people you seen die in your life Tom?" Huck asked bluntly.

"People I knew?" Huck nodded. "Well, there was Mama, but I was only four then, and then Dr. Robinson, Joe, and Quatermain— he was the one in our team that was killed. So four I guess."

"That's a lot o' people Tom, a lot o' people. I don't think I could stand t' be you."

The two friends sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of more shops opening as the fog began to thin out.

"Didja see that monster of a boat in the harbor?" Huck finally sighed.

"Yeah, you wanna see it from the inside?" Tom looked to Huck, a slightly fake smile plastered on his face. Huck laughed and shook his head.

"You always got a surprise fer me, don't ya Tom?" He paused. "Alright, le's go."

"Alright, but I gotta warn ya— my friends are a little odd."


	2. Friends in Low Places

A/N: Okay, okay, it took a while I know but I'm writing about 50 stories at the same time here! That, and, whenever I'm on my computer I have to be online, but whenever I'm online I obsessively check my mail and all that crap (damn OCD). It took me a little while to finally realize that I should write it out by hand and then type it up. Oh, and the titles I have to explain. For some reason I decided that they are going to all be country song titles, so the story title is a song by Alan Jackson, the first chap is a song by Toby Keith (I was kinda shocked when I found it) and this chap's title is by Garth Brooks. Well happy reading! -Ozzy-

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Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish…

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Patel stepped out on the dock lazily. He stumbled a bit but straightened out easily. It was hard to get your land legs back after six months at sea. It wasn't that they hadn't docked in all that time, it was just that he hadn't left the underwater boat known as the _Nautilus_ each time they docked. Now he was beginning to wish he had.

There was an ominous feeling in the air that morning, and Patel sensed it. He could almost smell it. The boards beneath his feet began to creak and groan, as if someone at least thirty pounds heaver than him were walking on it. A shudder went down his spine.

"Hello?" he called out tentatively. Was anyone off the ship? Oh, of course, now he remembered, Sawyer had gone out for a walk, probably to assuage some homesickness. Perhaps that was him. "Mr. Sawyer, is that you?" he coughed, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

There was no answer. Patel shrugged and turned to go back inside; he'd had enough air for the moment, and he was afraid he might stumble and fall in the water, like that time four years ago when he had finished his first trip on the _Nautilus_. Maybe he'd come out again when there wasn't so much fog and he could see the entire dock.

He took two full steps before he stopped. Actually, his body stopped while his feet attempted to continue going forward. He felt two fingers in the collar of his shirt pulling him back. They were rough to the touch and he could tell the owner was quite strong. He stumbled back to his standing position and straightened out, which wasn't all that difficult as the man stood at least a foot taller than him. Patel wasn't sure that was that great a feat, however, as he stood approximately 5'4". He felt the fingers slip slowly out of his collar and he could suddenly breathe. Patel tried to turn around to see who the man behind was, but within seconds that very hand had shot around his neck and closed in on his throat while the other hand slid around to cover his mouth.

The coarse, callused hand on Patel's throat closed tighter on his windpipe and he let out a few gagging sounds, which were muffled by the hand on his mouth. His eyes grew wide as his face grew redder. He began to kick wildly, thrashing about like a wounded animal. The kicks weren't the least bit effective. All logic had escape Patel— as it does nearly all men facing certain death— and he didn't stop to think of any of the defensive maneuvers he had learned over the past few years.

Seconds, minutes, hours it seemed, passed and Patel's struggling continued. He was beginning to feel sick, and weak. The sky was getting dark. His lungs began to hurt. He couldn't struggle anymore. He couldn't feel anymore. He didn't want to. And so he let go.

The kicking stopped. The choking sounds stopped. Patel's heart stopped. All life seemed to leave him as he let out one final gargle. The hold on the man's throat slackened and the body of Saeed Patel fell to the ground. His assailant let out a low chuckle and kicked him to make sure he was out.

The man bent down. He wasn't very large, bulk-wise, but the lean arms extending from his black tank-top had well-toned muscles that showed he either exercised or was well-accustomed to hard work. He inspected Patel's body. He felt for a pulse, and, finding none, rolled his body a few times until it reached the side of the dock and pushed it in. It broke the top of the water with a slight splash and sank a few inches before floating to the top again, face up. Of course, men floated face up, he mused. The man simply pushed Patel's corpse under the dock like he was sweeping dust under the rug and stood up. Without even a check in his step, the man then turned on his heel and sauntered casually inside the _Nautilus._

"So Tom, ya gotta tell me, how'd you get rid o' yer curls?" Huck's voice cut through the fog as the pair appeared from somewhere beyond it. There was a smile in his voice and it was quite clear he was trying to tease his friend.

"Now that there's a secret that dies with me," Tom answered. "And don't you go tellin' my friends in there I used t' have curls." The last thing he needed was for them to find out that he did his hair. He'd never live it down.

Huck slowed his pace a little as the two drew closer to the _Nautilus_. He glanced up at the giant ship, most of which was still hidden by an impenetrable blanket of mist, and then moved his gaze to Tom, an odd look on his face.

"What? What is it?"

"Are you tryin' t' pull my leg?" he asked with a highly skeptic tone.

"No, I really don't want you to go tellin' my friends that I used t' have curls!"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, d' you really know the people on this here boat?" Tom looked at Huck, not really sure what he meant by that. He opened his mouth to answer— though he wasn't really sure what that answer would be— but he was cut off by the familiar slow yet authoritative voice of Captain Nemo.

"I believe the correct term would be 'canoe,'" he joked, though his tone seemed quite humorless. The tall, bearded, regal looking man wearing that blue suit that screamed he was a sailor appeared through the haze. He had a serious look on his face and the way he walked always reminded Tom of his old schoolmaster, but his appearance never failed to cheer him up. Nemo sauntered up to the pair and held his hand out to Huck, who took it tentatively. "I'm Captain Nemo, the captain of this 'boat,' also known as the _Nautilus,_" he stated quite proudly.

Huck let out a low whistle. "She's a beaut," he sighed admiringly. Nemo simply nodded.

"Now, I have given you my name, and the name of my ship, I would greatly appreciate it if you would give me yours," Nemo prompted. Tom smiled and let out a small laugh. Huck smiled too, but lowered his head a little as he did so, trying hard to hide his embarrassment.

"Oh, uh, sorry. I'm Huckleberry Finn. Mos' people jest call me Huck."

"Right, Mr. Finn, if you and Mr. Sawyer are hungry I believe the others are currently in the dining area."

"A'right, more food," Tom whooped. "C'mon Huck, I'll show ya up!" Tom jogged by the two, grabbing Huck's shoulder as he went. Within seconds, Nemo was left alone and he found himself seriously doubting the sanity of Americans.

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The others, minus Mina, were indeed in the dining area, as Nemo had said. Of course the others minus Mina equaled Skinner and Jekyll. A very quiet Skinner and Jekyll. The sound of scraping plates filled the large room as one man appeared to be sitting quite alone at the large table.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the others are, would you?" the timid doctor finally ventured to ask, speaking to somewhere around Skinner's plate, as Skinner had felt it wasn't necessary to dress or paint his face that morning.

"How should I know? They're not my pets," Skinner barked back grumpily. Jekyll decided it was best not to eat alone with Skinner anymore.

The sound of footsteps in the hall caught both the men's attentions. There were two sets of footsteps, but both were very heavy and loud. Sawyer's voice echoed from the hallway, but another, unfamiliar voice was mixed with it.

"So is that as weird as your friends get?" the strange voice laughed.

"Just you wait," Sawyer's voice replied warningly.

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I'm not that odd, am I? Jekyll found himself wondering.

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Of course not Henry, Hyde's voice bubbled up from somewhere inside his mind. Okay, so maybe he wasn't exactly average.

As Jekyll pondered the extent of his peculiarity, Sawyer appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a man he considered to be much more peculiar than he was. Sawyer's friend was about two or three inches shorter than him with thin, light brown hair, bleached by the sunlight, and dark brown eyes. At least that's what you'd say if you were trying to make him sound normal. His hair was cut in a very crude fashion, as if by a dull knife, and his clothes were nothing but rags. He also seemed to have tobacco bulging out of his lip and was looking around for the only device Nemo didn't have on his ship; a spittoon. But the most unusual thing about him, among many others Jekyll and, to a certain extent Skinner— who was busy polishing off his sausages— noticed, was that he was barefoot. His feet were tan from constant exposure to the sun and they were positively filthy, yet neither he nor Sawyer seemed to notice.

"Hey there Jekyll, Skinner," Sawyer began, but stopped when he looked at the fork floating in midair, a mildly disgusted look coming over his face. "Jesus Skinner, can't you at least wear clothes around food?"

"Uh, Tom, who're ya talkin' to?" Sawyer's odd friend mumbled in his ear, but Skinner interrupted him.

"Well you don't _have_ to think of me as being around the food, now do you Sawyer?" Skinner retorted, his voice dripping with a sort of joyful sarcasm as he let his fork clang down. Sawyer's companion jumped.

"And where am I supposed t' imagine you?" Sawyer barked back, disregarding his friend's unease.

"How about on a nice little island with beautiful women all around me?" Sawyer rolled his eyes.

"Oh just put some bloody clothes on Skinner!" Jekyll finally snapped.

"Alright, alright, calm down then," he laughed, sensing irritation in the voice of a man he considered seriously unstable. As if by magic, the coat on the chair next to the setting where the fork had mysteriously dropped lifted up into the air and took the form of a fairly averaged size upper body. Sawyer's friend was nearly in hysterics now, as he stood up against the wall directly behind him, looking around frantically, the lump of tobacco now gone.

"Tom, you tell me righ' now what in the _hell_ is going on!" he insisted rather frantically.

"Huck, I'd like you to meet Dr. Jekyll and Rodney Skinner," Sawyer sighed, gesturing to the two men before him with a smile. "Jekyll, Skinner, meet Huckleberry Finn. Huck, don't say I didn't warn ya."

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A/N: Yeah, I know, a weird place to leave off, but I didn't want it to bore you! If I continued on with what I have planned in this chapter, it would just drag on and on and on and on…I think you get the point. I don't think this is my best work, and I tried to remedy it, but there didn't really seem a way. Oh well, I'll make up for it in later chapters! Anyways, hope you enjoyed it! -Ozzy-


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